Technopoly: The Surrender of Culture to Technology

In this chapter, Postman shows how Technopoly causes the trivialization of a culture’s symbols, leading to a loss of that culture’s cohesive narrative and sense of meaning, which in turn results in a feeling of alienation. He writes that it’s possible to trivialize symbols because they are not inexhaustible and frequency of use causes them to lose meaning. Using them out of context further reduces their meaning. In America, this is done through commerce, as symbols are overused in advertising.

The author reviews the history of advertising in the United States, noting that it wasn’t even an entity until the late 19th century. Prior to that, the country was certainly capitalist, but advertising was done in a straightforward, rational, and honest manner. He attributes to Proctor and Gamble the later trend of using symbols and images, writing that “[w]hat the advertiser needs to know is not what is right about the product but what is wrong about the buyer” (170). In other words, advertisers manipulated symbols to play on ideas of aesthetics and psychology. Symbols of the nation and of religion get used repeatedly until they lose their value. A perfect of example of this is the way commerce has exploited Christmas, a phenomenon he calls “cultural rape” (170).

However, advertising is merely a symptom. Technopoly is opposed to tradition, which is the use of symbols in constructing a narrative of a certain worldview. Postman uses the example of education to illustrate this. We don’t usually ask what learning is for (which would draw on a philosophy, or narrative) but only how to make it more efficient (Technopoly’s main purpose). He argues, however, that there is no point in education at all without answering the first question. In a Technopoly, this seems to be getting a good job and helping the economy, along with keeping the Technopoly going—all of which is wholly uninspiring. 

The title of this final chapter forms part of the advice Postman gives for combating what he has described in the rest of the book. A “loving resistance fighter” is someone who starts by continuing to hold sacred the symbols of the United States and the narrative that has made it special since its founding. That’s the “loving” part. He then goes on to list what a “resistance fighter” should and should not do. Much of his advice centers on ideas such as having a healthy skepticism, accepting technology as a useful means but not an end in itself, and respecting the past and its traditions.

Different approaches to this can be taken—including social and political—but Postman focuses on ideas for how to carry out resistance in the realm of education. What he proposes is an “idea-centered and coherence-centered” definition of education that contains a strong curriculum (188) and includes a deep examination of the history of subjects. Students should be taught the history of science or of math or of music—whichever courses are given. The reason for this, he argues, is that students need to understand processes and alternative mindsets. Knowledge is not a collection of facts or a snapshot of current thinking; there is a past and a progression to all knowledge. This is important because it teaches students to understand different viewpoints (of both time and culture), how to make comparisons, and how to evaluate them.

To this Postman adds the history and philosophy of science; the history of technology; semantics; literature, music, and art; and the history of religion. Each of these should have a strong emphasis on the past, so students can learn where we’ve been in order to appreciate where we are today, using both to think about where we should go in the future. He calls this teaching “the ascent of humanity” (187).